Scud the Stud takes on the Zombie Apocolapse
by The Readers Muse
Summary: "If we make it out of here in one piece, remind me to tell you about my last trip to Prague," he continued, speaking around a drooping cigarette as he lobbed another homemade explosive into the melee. (Blade II crossover)
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or Blade II, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This is a response fill for the USS Caryl's 2nd fanfiction/fanart Challenge on tumblr regarding the following prompt: (Scenario #1) "_AU Caryl with any of the different characters that Norm has played over the years. (ie: Replace Daryl with Scud from Blade II or Murphy from Boondock Saints.)."_ - As requested by Residentgoth.

**Warnings:** Contains spoilers for all three seasons of the Walking Dead – particularly season two and three and just to be safe, all of Blade II. This is an AU/crossover fic, tiny smut warning for later chapters, hurt and comfort, strong language, drug use, the usual blood, guts and gore.

**Scud the Stud takes on the Zombie Apocalypse**

The acrid scent of singed fertilizer and spilled ammonia filtered through the air around him, harsh and grounding as it melded together with charred fabric and overturned sod as he tossed another mason jar of what he'd dubbed the 'Scud special' into the herd at random.

He didn't have to aim. _They were fuckin' everywhere._

They'd been drawn out of the house by the sound of a gunshot, a single, insignificant little _blip_ in the scheme of things, really. Only by the time they'd all piled out onto the porch, part of him half wondering if Rick and Shane had _finally _decided to cut the crap and work their shit out, the walkers were already halfway across the pasture.

Panic rose up in the back of his throat like bile, like _retribution_, half convinced that fate was _finally _coming to collect after all.

Somewhere behind him, someone cut power to the house, but it was too little too late as far as he was concerned. Somewhere near the house, Lori screamed for Rick, _for Carl,_ as the beginning flickers of a fire started licking around the edges of the hay barn. He thought he saw Carol's closely shorn head darting across the front yard, throwing supplies into the back of Hershel's truck, but he lost sight of her when a particularly ambitious walker decided to investigate the ladder that led up to their perch on top of the RV.

His mind was tossing around phrases like 'curiosity killed the cat' and 'what goes around comes around' when his Glock drilled a hole right through the center of the stupid bastard's forehead.

Each movement felt fluidic, _slow, _like they were stuck in a video recording that's sound was off by just a handful of beats. His chest felt tight, _suffocating_. _Small. _He needed to breathe, he needed to-

He shifted in position on top of the RV, hooking another box of his homemade walker remedy with the toe of his high tops as T-dog and Jimmy tossed double handfuls into the center of the crowd that was forming below them. The resulting blasts sent a shockwave rippling through his hair, rocking the RV as walker guts peppered the vinyl sides.

He sent up a silent apology to Dale, promising that he'd give the old girl a good wet down once this was all over.

The taste of expelled shot was gritty and thick on his tongue, as Glenn and Maggie raced back and forth in the car near the pasture, trying to control the spread. But it was the smell that really got to him, the walkers. With so many in one place, the smell of old blood and decomposing flesh was heady, rising in the humid, Georgian air like the world's nastiest heat wave.

It was dark, and by dark he meant full on 'after the commercials', movie theater kind of dark. So, all in all, the night was basically turning into the kind of crappy-ass, B-rated horror flick you turned on when you were half roasted and more inclined to be generous with your opinions.

_Christ, what he wouldn't do for just a drag of some of that sweet Durban Poison. Or a box of Krispy Kremes for that matter.  
_

They were trying to buy the others some time, distracting the majority of the herd while Glenn and Maggie picked off the outsiders that were still stumbling through the front field. Everyone else was trying to clear a path and get the RV to Rick and Carl. Only something else must have happened because from what he could tell, Lori and Carol were stalled by the front steps, trying to talk some sense into Hershel about leaving.

But it was a losing battle and everyone knew it. They were surrounded. And all that bullshit about today being as good as any to cash out was only looking more likely by the second.

He snagged another jar, squinting a bit as he tried to find the most heavily populated portion of the crowd as a small group started banging up against the side, rocking the vehicle as Jimmy and T-dog crouched down to keep their balance. The volatile liquid sloshed against the glass as he lined up and aimed. The label, 'fresh peaches, 2003' was barely visible in the high moonlight. It was low tech, but hey, you worked with what you had these days.

The resulting explosion sent a plume of red misting across the roof where they were standing, pearling across their skin and clothing as he tossed T-dog a sheepish smile. Jimmy just retched violently over the side, his cowboy hat fluttering off into empty space as it missed the railing and fell right into a walker's outstretched hand.

He kind of felt sorry about it when he looked down and was treated to the sight of a pile of severed limbs which were twitching and spurting into the trampled grass. Most of the fuckers weren't even dead, but the vast majority were out of commission, groaning and snarling from the growing pile that was starting to spread out around the RV like fallen flower petals. Waving their stumps ineffectually as more of their brethren crushed forward to take their place.

"Alright, I've got to admit, that's pretty badass," T-dog admitted, surveying the carnage below with a conflicted expression, somewhere in between disgust and childish excitement.

"This is nothing!" he retorted, fiddling with one of the lids for a tense moment before he shrugged and just tossed it. The explosive mixture trickled down the rim and onto his fingers as he chucked it in the direction of a particularly dumpy looking walker who was wearing a Budweiser hat and no pants.

"If we make it out of here in one piece, remind me to tell you about my last trip to Prague," he continued, speaking around a drooping cigarette as he lobbed another homemade explosive into the melee.

"Molotov cocktails?" Jimmy asked, side-eying the box wearily, as if it could possibly be harboring some mildly contagious disease even as he leaned down for another jar.

"Fuck no," he shot back, almost defensive at the implication that he would make such an obvious faux-pas. Besides that, it was a waste of booze. And honestly, considering the circumstances, no one wanted to be the asshole that raided the liquor cabinet to make a shitty version of a poor man's explosive in the middle of a god damned crisis.

"Walkers are bad enough. Who wants those mother fuckers chasing you around _on fire_?" he finished, imagination ramping up into overdrive as he pictured a dozen flaming corpses stumbling after him, reaching for him with the flames kissing their rotting skin, snapping, bubbling, cracking, _searing_-

"Where'd you learn to do all this, man?" T-dog pressed, diving right into the question he'd seen churning in the back of his eyes since the moment he'd snagged him in mid-run and gotten his help dragging his arsenal out from underneath the log pile on the other side of the house. They'd made it to the RV just in time, with the first walkers spilling onto the front yard as Lori screamed for her boy.

"Google, man," he replied, blowing a strand of hair off of his face as he turned around to answer. "You'd be surprised what kinda shit was just floating around in cyber space before all this." Glad that for once, his response wasn't a _complete _lie as he tossed another jar into the growing crowd.

"Yes, but how? Hell, _when_?" Jimmy questioned, wiping his mouth surreptitiously, his fair skin pale and still a bit green as he looked around at the empty boxes.

"Just a few household chemicals mixed together in the proper portions, Jimbo!" he sing-songed, grinning into the dark as the kid's eyes went wide with surprise and perhaps even a little bit of awe as he passed him the biggest jar of the lot.

"Reason number one hundred and one, why you should_ never_ piss off a housewife," he added, throwing the words over his shoulder a bit more flippantly than he figured anyone had a right too – especially considering that internally he was fucking _losing _it.

He was saved having to answer the last bit when T-dog interrupted, yelling something about Rick and Carl as the smell of burning wood and oxidized iron suddenly became impossible to ignore. He looked up, forcing his eyes to focus on where he'd last seen them, hunkered down on the roof just below the loft as a haze of smoke partially obscured his view.

_Crap._

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**A/N #2:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – Expect more chapters to come, I am kinda feeling my way through this one. I am enjoying working with Scud's character thus far.

**Reference:** "Durban Poison" is a type of marijuana. It is perfect for hotter outdoor climates and is known for its sweet, uplifting high. Honestly, no idea, if any of that is true, I googled it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or Blade II, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This is a response fill for the USS Caryl's 2nd fanfiction/fanart Challenge on tumblr regarding the following prompt: (Scenario #1) "AU Caryl with any of the different characters that Norm has played over the years. (ie: Replace Daryl with Scud from Blade II or Murphy from Boondock Saints.)." - As requested by Residentgoth.

**Warnings:** Contains spoilers for all three seasons of the Walking Dead – particularly season two and three and just to be safe, all of Blade II. This is an AU/crossover fic, tiny smut warning for later chapters, hurt and comfort, strong language, drug use, the usual blood, guts, and gore.

**Scud the Stud takes on the Zombie Apocalypse**

_**Chapter Two**_

They were running low on both explosives and bullets when a window finally opened. Somehow, between them keeping the main herd at bay and Glenn and Maggie whizzing through the uneven sod in the front pasture - trying to control the influx of walkers still shambling out of the tree line - they seemed to have made a temporary dent.

But it wouldn't last for long. They had to move fast, because honestly, there didn't seem to be an end to them. They just kept coming. Already another group was filtering through the tree line just behind the house, endangering the other's route to the vehicles. And the barn was– _Christ!_

Either way, it was as good an opportunity as they were going to get and he didn't plan on wasting it. If there was one thing he'd learned during his whole encounter with the 'other side,' it was knowing when it was time to cut your losses. Tomorrow was another day and shit. You know how the saying went.

The three of them seemed to be sharing the same wave-length because all it took was a look and they were scrambling to unholster their weapons, clearing the remaining geeks from the side of the RV before they made for the roof ladder.

"Co'mon, this is fubar," he yelled, tossing the boxes off the top of the RV as he tried to figure out if Rick and Carl were still trapped on the roof or if they'd found their own way down. "We gotta' bounce. We got everyone out, we ain't winning this fight."

"I'll get the others," T-dog yelled, pointing off in the direction of the house as he tossed Dale's keys to Jimmy and hurried down the ladder.

He nearly had a god damned heart attack when he looked up and realized that Glenn and Maggie were hemmed in halfway across the front pasture, trying to reverse in the soft mud as a crowd of walkers tried to claw their way right through the windshield. _Fuckin' fuck, so much for a god damned window!_

His heart was in his throat as he slid down the ladder, nearly stumbling into T-dog when his feet hit the ground quicker than he'd expected, his free hand juggling the remaining jars as he took down a legless walker that was crawling towards them. Jimmy was hot on his heels as the three of them split up; covering T-dog's escape towards the house as the man took off at a dead sprint.

"Get as close to the barn as you can, enough so that Rick and Carl can make a jump for the roof. After that head towards the highway, ya hear?" he instructed, opening the driver's door and starting the engine as he all but _herded_ the gangly boy into the front seat.

Jimmy hesitated, looking like he was about to say something more before he cut him off in mid-thought. He made an effort to send him what he hoped was an encouraging grin as somewhere in the background, Glenn and Maggie finally managed to break free of their undead fan club. Honking frantically as they hit the gas and headed towards the side exit, the only direction left to them as walkers cut off their return to the farmhouse.

"Scoot, Jimbo. Time's a wastin'. I'll be right behind 'ya. I'll make sure everyone is accounted for. Besides, I ain't leaving my bike behind," he affirmed, flicking the butt of his cigarette off to the side as the kid nodded, eyes looking far too wide for his face as they parted ways. The sound of Jimmy's Ladysmith echoed periodically as the kid revved up the RV, sending clods of dirty whizzing through the air as he made tracks towards the barn, the bottom half now almost completely engulfed in flames.

He palmed the last of the explosives and got a move on, ducking through the long grass, he tried his best to be invisible. Hell, he was makin' like Flash as his high-tops swished through the dew-ridden grass, skidding slightly as he zig-zagged more than Mel Gibson in The Patriot.

_Just a few more meters._

The air was heavy, claustrophobic and close. His breath came out in strangled gasps as he took down one walker, then another and another as his injured side burned, trying to get to his tent with all his limbs intact. His lungs strained as he cursed the day he'd started smoking before he ripped off his bandana and stuffed it in his pocket. _Nicotine was a harsh mistress._

He tossed T-dog a sloppy salute as the shadowy forms of Patricia, Beth, Carol and Lori could be seen running off the porch, making a beeline for the truck as Hershel proved that under every straight laced church faring man, there was an inner badass. Either that or the old coot had completely lost it, which was also pretty much as likely at this point. From this distance it was hard to tell.

There hadn't been anything he could do when Patricia went down. Or when that terrible, pitching scream had risen up from the direction of the RV, the shadowy figures of Rick and Carl only just visible as they jumped off the side and made tracks towards the house, blood splattering across the windshield as Rick and Carl were forced to leave Jimmy behind, making for the house and the last remaining vehicle as T-dog gunned the engine of Otis's truck, foot heavy on the gas as a massive crowd of walkers tried to block their escape.

He'd had his own hide to worry about.

Everything had gone to shit so fast he could barely tell which way was up, let alone try and process anything more complicated than shoot-reload-duck-shoot-run-stop and-

Something deep in the pit of his stomach_ lurched_ as time seemed to skip forward and suddenly he was roaring down a dirt road, Carol hot and firm against his back as the dawn started streaking the sky around them. They'd barely escaped from the farm in one piece; Carol had gotten separated from T-dog, Lori and Beth when everyone had gone their separate ways. He'd heard her scream and used the last of the explosives to clear a path for her. The stupid fuckers were practically nipping at her heels by the time he'd found her.

It was one close call too many in his opinion. But she was safe, and for now, he figured that was all that mattered. Now, he wasn't a pussy or whatever, but he was the first one to admit that when it came to her, to _Carol_, especially now, it was easy to explain the feelings away as relief or the lingering remnants of adrenaline. Denial wasn't just a river in Egypt and even if it was, he was the captain of the fucking ship that was sailing down it.

It was just that whenever he thought about it, whenever he was _forced _to face the fact that perhaps his feelings towards the broad were a bit more than kosher, another little voice inside him was just as quick to point out that the whole idea of well, _her,_ was a honey-pot of emotional investment that he wasn't exactly prepared to deal with.

_After all, it was enough that she was alive, wasn't it? _

He frowned, something wasn't right. Something was off. It didn't make sense, how had they gone from the farm to-

He had no idea where Rick was, where Andrea, Glenn or any of the others had fucked off too. They'd lost Patricia and Jimmy - that much he knew for sure. Everything else was up in the air, hovering over his head like one of those anvils on the Cartoon Network, poised to drop the moment he got too cocky.

He had no idea if anyone else had made it, no idea where they'd all go or if they'd be able to even find them. But he couldn't let himself think about that. He had to focus. He had to commit to getting around this corner, the next fork in the road, the next side street, the next traffic snarl. He had to compartmentalize. He had to-

A walker lurched out from an abandoned car, doors flung open and creaking in the light breeze. He jerked to the right, Carol crying out in surprise as the sudden movement sent loose gravel arcing through the air. He tried to correct it, but it was too late, Carol's nails dug deep into the meat of his thighs as they toppled over, sliding across the dirt road as pain seared down his side.

He sucked in a ragged breath, trapped under the bike as his injured side throbbed, the hot slick of blood trickling down his rib cage as he struggled to get free. He yelled for Carol, panicking when he realized that her weight was gone from his back, leaving him bereft and alone as the edges of his vision fuzzed over with static.

His heart was pounding in his throat, unsure and indecisive as every nerve in his body _screamed._

He choked on a mouthful of blood and grit, flailing against the overturned bike as a walker appeared out of nowhere, snarling and hunchbacked as it fell to the ground at his feet. It weighed down the bike, trapping him underneath as filthy fingers scrabbled across his collar, struggling to reach him as he yelled, cussing out a string of obscenities as he tried to unclip his holster.

But it was too late, because before he could process it, a different set of boney hands were curling around his ankle, the flash of rotting teeth highlighted by the rising sun as the walker captured his arm and-

* * *

**A/N #2:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – The next chapter should be up in a few days. This will probably be a three or four chapter story, if all goes as planned. Which honestly, rarely happens. Ha!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or Blade II, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This is a response fill for the USS Caryl's 2nd fanfiction/fanart Challenge on tumblr regarding the following prompt: (Scenario #1) "AU Caryl with any of the different characters that Norm has played over the years. (ie: Replace Daryl with Scud from Blade II or Murphy from Boondock Saints.)." - As requested by Residentgoth.

**Warnings:** Contains spoilers for all three seasons of the Walking Dead – particularly season two and three and just to be safe, all of Blade II. This is an AU/crossover fic, tiny smut warning for later chapters, hurt and comfort, strong language, drug use, the usual blood, guts, and gore.

**Scud the Stud takes on the Zombie Apocalypse**

_**Chapter Three**_

He woke up in a cold sweat, thrashing, trapped and two seconds away from tipping off the bed as he braced his hand on the bunk above him. Catching himself red handed as an awkward, pitching sort of mewl that he'd deny to his dying day echoed through the room, embarrassingly loud in the still air as he bolted upright, breathing hard.

His skin prickled as sweat mingled with a rash of goose bumps. He felt hyper-aware, _present _as he looked around the room, one hand curled around the buck knife he kept under his pillow, the same four walls he'd gone to sleep with greeting him as he struggled to catch his breath. He forced himself to relax as he breathed it in.

_The prison, he was at the prison._

The smell of damp concrete, baby formula, and rust rose up around him, drab but familiar. He cleared his throat, swallowing hard as he shook off the sheets that had managed to get tangled around his legs sometime during the night. Prying open one of the knots that had fastened around his ankle as his entire body _ached_ – as if in sympathy for a muscle memory that had never actually happened.

He slumped back against the wall with a sigh, rubbing his eyes as the crusts of sleep fluttered down into his lap like paper rain. _Christ, he'd been dreaming._

He nibbled on a nail, running a hand through his sweaty bangs before he shrugged out of his soaked B.P.R.D shirt, lip curling in disgust when it hit the floor with a wet splat_. Nasty. _But for some reason, he fixated on it. It was worn now, tattered, stained with dirt and gore, but it was one of the only things he'd kept from his old life - as a reminder or whatever.

It wasn't exactly as deep as it sounded; he just needed something from back then, something to hold on to. _Something grounding_. And while it didn't exactly bring back many fond memories, unless you counted getting your stomach nearly torn open by two dames that seemed to enjoy his screaming just a _bit _too much or having to look himself in the eye the day he'd realized exactly what he'd gotten himself into – it _was _part of the reason why he was still kickin' one or two apocalypses later.

Somewhere off in the distance, the pitching creak of one of the cell doors opening then closing echoed through cell block. He waited until he heard the jingle of keys before he relaxed again, listening to the footsteps retreating down the hallway as the soft glow of an oil lantern skimmed across the gap between the door and the floor before fading completely. _Glenn was on watch. _

He grunted, stretching in place. He had four hours until it was his turn on watch and he knew from experience that he wasn't getting back to sleep anytime soon. He winced when his teeth nicked a line along the quick of his thumb, cursing both himself and his stupid oral fixation as he leaned down, rummaging around in his bag for one of the sticks of gum he'd managed to squirrel away after their last supply run.

_God, what he wouldn't do for a toke. _

He'd had to quit smokin' cold turkey after they'd lost the farm. The risk of rummaging around for cancer sticks in the middle of a supply run had pretty much lost its appeal after he'd nearly gotten ham-stringed jumping the counter at a rundown 7-11 on the outskirts of Ellenwood during the beginning of winter. The old saying of 'look before you leap' had never seemed more accurate after that.

He'd tried to tell himself that it wasn't worth it. That sooner or later he would have had to stop anyway; it wasn't like they were exactly churning them out en masse anymore. But hell, if the cravings hadn't been a royal pain his ass.

He blew a bubble, sucking it back in with a satisfying pop as he let his mind wander.

He'd been in the big guy's bat cave for all of two weeks before he realized he'd made a colossally bad decision. _Big bad was descent_, and what was more important was that even _alone_ he had a good shot. Not just at cleaning up the streets, but of actually ending the whole vampire shit show someday. He'd felt like the biggest sucker that had ever walked the god damned earth when he watched the man in action. When he realized that he'd picked the _wrong_ side, the _easy _side over the long march to victory.

He'd taken the fuckin' red pill before he'd listened to Morpheus's big speech.

He supposed that was what fear did to you. It made you stupid - paralyzed you. He'd been in a bad place when he'd stumbled onto the vampire's _big fat secret._ He'd been doing what had always come naturally to him, snooping around in other people's dirty laundry - testing firewalls and security networks on a massive Medicare firm that seemed to have popped into existence overnight.

All it had taken was a fucking_ glimpse_ of the fang and the size of his balls had basically rewound all the way back before puberty. It was kind of pathetic now that he thought about it. But Christ, if the whole 'master of the night' routine _hadn't_ put the fear of god into him, or, you know, the _other _guy.

In the end it _was _fear that had led him to take the brand. Fear of the vamps, fear of his own mortality. He had to admit that they'd spun a good yarn, forcing him to face every insecurity he hadn't even realized he'd had, before soothing his panic with assurances of wealth and eternal youth. At the time, it had seemed like a pretty good deal, especially considering he hadn't really had a choice when it all came down to it.

Not that it made the realization that he'd become what his six year old self would have absolutely _loathed _any less mortifying, mind you. He'd gone dark side, and worse? He'd _liked_ it.

* * *

**A/N #2:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – There should be a few more chapters after this, stay tuned.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or Blade II, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This is a response fill for the USS Caryl's 2nd fanfiction/fanart Challenge on tumblr regarding the following prompt: (Scenario #1) "AU Caryl with any of the different characters that Norm has played over the years. (ie: Replace Daryl with Scud from Blade II or Murphy from Boondock Saints.)." - As requested by Residentgoth.

**Warnings:** Contains spoilers for all three seasons of the Walking Dead – particularly season two and three and just to be safe, all of Blade II. This is an AU/crossover fic, tiny smut warning for later chapters, hurt and comfort, strong language, drug use, the usual blood, guts, and gore.

**Scud the Stud takes on the Zombie Apocalypse**

_**Chapter Four**_

Blade had actually looked surprised when, about six months into his stay, he'd packed up his shit and told him he was leaving. That was the moment when he realized that B had known all along.

At the time he'd been _beyond_ panicking. He'd entertained every thought from buying himself a one way ticket to charm school to settling someplace far, far way in case big bad decided to change his mind. Somewhere like Bora Bora or some dinky little island in the Antarctic that didn't even have a name.

But for reasons beyond him, B had never come lookin'.

All else considered he hadn't counted on getting stuck in Atlanta, Georgia, a state so flippin' hot he swore he had sunshine coming out of his ass whenever he bent over.

But that was what happened when you didn't have a gold card. The money he'd managed to skim from his vamp account before he'd made like the great escape and vamoosed had long since vanished by the time his van had broken down in the middle of Atlanta's club district. He would'a fixed it himself but he'd had to leave most of his tools back in Prague.

He'd forgotten what it was like to actually do shit without a cushy expense account.

When the world had gone to shit and he'd nearly gotten his ass chomped by the nice old broad from #145, he figured it was just karma's way of getting even. She'd been the same one who'd smelled deceptively like Ange ou Demon when she'd plied him with cookies and sweet tea the day he'd moved in, unloading the pathetic contents of his van into an equally depressing one bedroom apartment on skid row. He _had_ gone dark side after all.

Either way, there was some full on George Romero, Quentin Tarentino bullshit going on out there and he hadn't even come close to finishing his bucket list. The news had been about as helpful as a fuckin' hole in the head, but what else was new? All he knew was that he was far too pretty to die and he wasn't going to take this one sitting down. _Not this time._

When he'd found out about the whole vamp thing, he'd felt like his entire life had been one big fat lie. This time around, he hadn't had a lot of time to sit around feeling sorry for himself. Mind you, that was mostly on account of everyone and their maiden aunt trying to sink their teeth into him and Scud junior whenever he turned around. He'd gone from hoisting a kitchen knife in nothing but his boxers as half of the twelfth floor tried to break through his front door to tossing his shit into a duffel bag and shimmying down the fire escape

But even he had to admit he'd done his fair share of raging. Hell, he'd somehow managed to drown his sorrows in a couple of tubs of half melted Ben and Jerry's at a corner Mexi-Mart that still had power about two days after the National Guard rolled into downtown Atlanta.

_And not without good reason mind you._

He'd known what they were before everyone else had. Back in his fang-banger days, they'd called it the 'rot'. It happened sometimes when a vamp tried to turn one of their familiars, bestowing the gift of eternal life or whatever when the sorry son of a bitch had finally jumped through all the hoops their master wanted them too. Sometimes the turning went pear-shaped. That being said, he'd never seen anything like _this _before.

The vampires had obviously gone and stuck their noses in something they shouldn't have. _Again_. There was no other explanation. He knew they were trying to find a way to become day-walkers. But he'd never believed they'd actually succeed at it. And obviously, once again, they hadn't.

Before communication had gone down, some of his old contacts had told him that it didn't matter, it turned everyone, human _and_ vampire. He wanted to be smug about it, but, considering the fall out, he figured bringing out the champagne would be in bad taste.

Still, he figured it was pretty damn rich that the vampires had managed to prove single-handedly that you couldn't _always_ have your cake and eat it too.

The Scud-mobile had cut out twenty miles outside of the suburbs the same day the military counter measures had failed and the safe zone was breached. And despite leaving well before the evacuation notice, the streets were already thick with the motherfuckers. He was stuck on an off ramp leading to fucking_ nowhere_ in bumper to bumper grid lock eight semi-trucks thick on either side.

It was a meals-on-wheels situation and he knew it. So he'd grabbed as much of his shit as he could carry and jumped the median. He'd been halfway to the tree line when the screams had started. He'd run so fast he'd ended up spewing his guts beside an abandoned supermarket, lungs burning and muscles screaming – feeling just about as wrung out as his stomach as he'd looked around and tried to figure out what the hell he was going to do now.

He'd ended up hot wiring a sweet looking motorbike, a Triumph no less, parked in front of a crappy looking bar a few blocks from the supermarket. In his defense, he'd figured it was abandoned, just like the rest of Atlanta at that point. But when a methed out hill-billy sporting a leather vest and a bad attitude exploded out the front door and chased him hallway down the street, screeching obscenities as every walker in a hundred miles heard the dinner bell, he'd peeled out of that parking lot and hadn't looked back.

He'd called him something, "Daryl" maybe. At the time he hadn't really given it much thought. But every now and again he wondered what that redneck had been yelling about. He supposed that was what you did when you were stuck in a situation like they were now; situated and no longer on the run. You got caught up on the little things.

* * *

**A/N #2:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – Stay tuned for more!


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or Blade II, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This is a response fill for the USS Caryl's 2nd fanfiction/fanart Challenge on tumblr regarding the following prompt: (Scenario #1) "AU Caryl with any of the different characters that Norm has played over the years. (ie: Replace Daryl with Scud from Blade II or Murphy from Boondock Saints.)." - As requested by Residentgoth.

**Warnings:** Contains spoilers for all three seasons of the Walking Dead – particularly season two and three and just to be safe, all of Blade II. This is an AU/crossover fic, tiny smut warning for later chapters, hurt and comfort, strong language, drug use, the usual blood, guts, and gore.

**Scud the Stud takes on the Zombie Apocalypse**

_**Chapter Five**_

It wasn't until the night he saw the light from a campfire up on some mountaintop quarry just outside the city limits that he figured he'd had enough of his own company. They hadn't known their ass from a power tool back then, but they'd had their heads and their hearts in the right place. And while he wasn't exactly sure how this whole forgiveness thing worked, he figured, if nothing else, he could start with them.

And the rest, as they say, was history.

He didn't tell anyone about what he knew. How could he? In fact, he managed to keep to himself for the most part, friendly but distant. Not keen on answering a bunch of questions about himself or his past. The solitude went against his nature, but at the time he figured it was more par for the course than letting himself run off at the mouth.

And while he didn't know much about hunting or living off the land, he _did_ know a thing or two about surviving, about getting by while coasting along easy street. _Hell, he'd mastered that shit in grade school. _In the end he'd pulled more than his fair share of the weight around camp making weapons out of scrap metal and every so often, heading off to scavenge on the outskirts of Atlanta with Glenn. They'd gone hungry more than a few nights but by the time Rick arrived at the quarry and reunited with his wife and his son, he'd put a weapon, of some sort, in the hand of every person there.

It wasn't until the highway herd and Carol's girl went missing that shit started to get real. He'd made the mistake of getting invested, of proving a point that had turned around and bit him in the ass. He'd decided to go play Eagle Scout, looking for blondie and had taken a tumble down the ravine for his troubles. Not only that, but he'd nearly gotten shot right between the eyes in the middle of dragging his sorry ass back to the farm to boot.

He was told he'd been out before the echo of the gunshot had even so much as faded from the still summer air.

It was only when he woke up the next day, forehead and chest swathed in bandages, the pallor of his skin only highlighting his already impressive collection of scars, that the questions started. Not just about Sophia but the lattice-work of old wounds that made up his chest and belly, the tattoo on the inside of his lip, and the not so subtle lumps that could be detected when you ran your hands down the length of him, evidence of too many old breaks and badly healed sprains to count.

Hershel, Rick, Carol and Shane had all been present for the inquisition. And while it hadn't been pretty, he hadn't made a complete fool of himself either. He'd told them a watered down version of the truth, that he'd fallen in with the wrong crowd and had gotten his ass trounced for it. At the time he remembered being surprised when they'd actually bought it. It wasn't his best lie, being as doped up on painkillers as he was, but it certainly hadn't been the worst either.

He'd given them what they wanted, some sob story about his old man and a troubled youth. He'd told them about years travelin' around the world looking for the big score, for that one job, one moment, maybe even that one girl that would tie everything together and make his whole life make sense.

More or less it was a complete crock of shit, but hey, it sounded nice.

He didn't tell them about the vamps or even B-man for that matter. They were nice people, decent. Let them stay oblivious, content in the knowledge that they had a good handle on things. It wasn't like the whos or the whats mattered that much anyway, the vampires were extinct. _Hopefully._ As far as he knew they'd gone the way of the dinosaurs when the virus had hit. They'd all been turned instantly, with or without a bite. Whatever they'd done had gone airborne, or at least been widespread enough that it had taken down entire covens in just hours.

The only thing he _didn't_ know was what happened to Blade. Heck, the man did apocalypses every other Thursday; at the time, he'd figured it would be like old home week as far as B was concerned. And yet, he hadn't heard even so much as a whisper since Big Bad had broken Whistler out of vampire purgatory.

The point was he'd kept his mouth shut. And whenever he caught sight of a walker with sharp canines or a bunch of half mauled familiars who were sporting the brand, he dealt with it quietly. It wasn't like anyone was looking too close anyway; a walker was a walker as far as the others were concerned.

And for the sake of his sanity, he hoped it stayed that way.

He was roused out of his thoughts when the door of the cell beside his opened, squealing on rusty hinges before starting right back up as it swung closed. It didn't take much of a guess to figure out who it was.

Her shadow, willowy and lithe filtered through the bars as the beam of a flashlight shone bright in the pitch dark. She knocked once, softly, but didn't wait for him to reply; instead she ducked her head around the door and blinked – looking for him in the near dark.

A cautious little smile spread across her face as he gave her a little wave, grunting a bit as he retrieved his shirt and pulled the grimy thing back on with a watered down sort of grimace, motioning for Carol to come inside and shut the door as he turned the lantern up. The lantern bathed the room in a low, artificial sort of glow as she settled down at the foot of the bed. Her hair was sleep-mussed and tired, but as always, it looked good on her. Or maybe it was just the fact that _her _looked good on _her _– he'd never quite figured out the distinction.

"You alright?" She asked, voice warm and deliciously scratchy as she pulled on her purple jumper – something that never failed to make Scud junior stand at attention. _God, he was fuckin' weird._

"Just peachy," he replied, covering a yawn with the back of his hand as his mind tripped back to the moment where those sharp fingers had wrapped around his ankle, bony and brittle, yet as strong as iron as they'd dug into his flesh, pulling, tearing-

He shuddered.

"You want to talk about it?" she asked, as clairvoyant as always as she observed him serenely from her perch on the other side of the bed.

He hesitated. A lot of things had changed since the farm - more than had stayed the same at any rate. He was still pretty useless when it came to all the emotional investment, gushy-wushy sort of relationship crap. As hard as it was to believe, for all his infinite charms, he'd never exactly been good with the ladies.

Take that moment back at the farm for example, he'd rescued her from the walkers, tossing the last of his explosives towards the fence as she stumbled onto the bike and they'd made like the fast and the furious down that uneven gravel road. Now in the movies, hell, in _any_ situation other than theirs, that would have been the moment were he would have said something gracious, something sultry and shit. Instead, he'd just kinda insulted her and told her to get her ass on the bike.

_It was typical really._

He couldn't tell tit from true north when it came to this sort of shit, and that wasn't even the _worst_ of his problems.

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**A/N #2:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – There will be one more chapter after this, stay tuned!


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or Blade II, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This is a response fill for the USS Caryl's 2nd fanfiction/fanart Challenge on tumblr regarding the following prompt: (Scenario #1) "AU Caryl with any of the different characters that Norm has played over the years. (ie: Replace Daryl with Scud from Blade II or Murphy from Boondock Saints.)." - As requested by Residentgoth.

**Warnings:** Contains spoilers for all three seasons of the Walking Dead – particularly season two and three and just to be safe, all of Blade II. This is an AU/crossover fic, tiny smut warning for later chapters, hurt and comfort, strong language, drug use, the usual blood, guts, and gore.

**Scud the Stud takes on the Zombie Apocalypse**

_**Chapter Six**_

"Not particularly," he answered, the words coming out a bit too blunt in their honesty as he tried to imagine what coming clean would actually feel like. Not just about Blade and the vampires, but about_ them_. The whole 'us' factor that was hanging over their heads like a god damned thundercloud, ten seconds away from frying his ass for putting her off as long as he had.

They had this whole slow burn thing going on, a holding pattern without much holding. And worst of all, he'd let it stay at parade rest. He didn't want to fuck this up. He'd fucked up everything else in his god damned life - so he figured he didn't exactly have a great track record to begin with.

They'd found their way into each other's bed more than once, mostly on the bad nights. But nothing ever came of it and come morning it wasn't discussed any further than returning items of misplaced clothing or making sure each other got to their watch on time. _It was just their thing_.

He could lie and say he was happy leaving it at that, comfortable with where they stood. But honestly, he was _done _lying to himself. The truth was that he wasn't exactly sure where they were going to take it from here. He wasn't sure if this was all one sided, or if she felt the same way. He wasn't sure if he could even do this. If he could just flip the bird to the world and have her, right here, right now. It wasn't like he was exactly experienced in the matter, in _relationships._ He'd always been the kinda guy that didn't get much traction after that awkward one night stand. He wasn't even sure if he was cut out to be her-

But then again, it wasn't like life afforded many second chances these days. Hell, he'd bet a significant amount of green that life, karma or lady fate didn't give two fucks about fragile hearts and withering egos.

He'd told himself he was working his way up to it – and thus far, the excuse had held up about as well as could be expected. It'd left him hornier than a thirteen year old boy who had just discovered his old man's stash of playboys. But at least she was still around. Not driven off by his insecurity of the week or the blank slate he'd put up in the place of his past.

_She didn't need his type of baggage. Not after what she'd been through._

And yet, she kept on pushing. Nudging him this way and that, sometimes as innocent as anything and other times just about as subtle as a bulldozer rolling over a sea of bubble wrap. She'd made her…intentions, maybe even her desires clear enough – at this point it was _him_ who was dragging his feet.

Like a virgin on prom night he couldn't quite figure out the logistics of it, _of them_. Sex? Sex was simple, insert tab a into slot b, do the hanky panky, turn yourself about and all that. But what _they_ had? What_ he_ wanted? Christ, it might as well have been rocket science as far as he was concerned.

"Well, I'll let you get back to sleep then," she murmured, breaking the silence with the hush of fabric as she rose to her feet. Her voice was soft, but her expression was conflicted. Hazing over with equal parts disappointment and understanding as the low light flickered across her face, turning every curve, every line, dip and arch into something unfamiliar, something coated in the beginnings of disappointment and frustration.

It was only then, caught up in the intricacies of the moment, he realized that someday, unless he pulled his head out of his ass and did right by them both, he was going to fuckin' _lose_ her.

He came slamming back to reality pretty damn quick after that.

_Shit, she was leaving! _

He wasn't sure if it was showing on his face, but internally he was scrambling. Conflicting voices were telling him to tuck his tail between his legs and just let her off easy, trying to convince her she'd be better off with Tyreese or Axel, hell, _anyone_ other than him. While another, just as insistent, growled at the mere thought, hackles rising as something deep in the pit of his belly _burned_.

_God, he was a greedy bastard._

He wet his lips, watching her hips sway in the low light as she headed back towards the door. Her hand was on the knob, turning it when he opened his mouth, a smattering of words crowding for first place on his tongue before he shut it again with a snap.

_Christ, he'd faced down the fuckin' fang and now he couldn't handle one woman when it came down to the big plunge? It was pathetic with a capital freaking 'P'._

The pause was downright agonizing. He'd known all along that the last step was his to make. She wouldn't force it. She was a better person, a stronger person than she gave herself credit for - smarter too. She knew so much about him, about his past and yet, she hadn't even asked. He supposed it was like that old saying, wounded souls tend to recognize each other and all that crap.

They'd both changed in the intervening years. His rough edges and anxiety had been quietly hemmed, smoothed a bit around the edges, while everything about her had expanded, _unfurled. _And Christ, ever since that first fuckin' moment at the farm, hell, maybe even at the quarry, he'd wanted her.

_Big boy pants, Scud, big boy pants_, he reminded himself.

He ended up clearing his throat just a bit too obviously as she paused at the door jamb.

"…Unless you wanna?" he asked, cocking his head to the side as he flicked his hand towards the other side of the mattress. Deciding that an open invitation might be the best way to handle…well, whatever the hell this was. Hoping he didn't look as desperate as he felt as she paused in place.

She turned around slowly, one hand coming to rest on her hip as she gave him the 'old Clint Eastwood from a hundred paces' type of stare. Something of which was giving him a whole host of conflicting signals, unsure if he should be wary or aroused. Or, you know, both. _Both is good._

He swallowed, hard.

"Only if you have me home by midnight," she joked, eyes sparkling as she toed off her shoes and slipped under the covers. Snuggling up to his side like the whole thing was really _that _easy. She fit into the slot of his hip like she'd been made for it, one of her arms tentatively sliding across his chest, anchoring herself there as if she were settling in for the long haul as he tried to remind himself to breathe.

He couldn't help but grin, grateful for the darkness as he tossed a silent salute up at the ceiling, giving a shout out to Blade, wherever he was, for not putting a bullet in his ass when he'd had the chance.

_Thanks for the second chance, B._

He let his arm wrap around her from behind, feeling just shy of bold as she moved closer to accommodate it. He could feel her hair feathering across his neck, the smell of weak tea on her breath, the rhythm of her breathing. And slowly, the part of him that he suspected had been on point since this entire god damned thing had started, _finally_ started to relax.

In spite of appearances, this_ wasn't _a promise, not yet anyway. But at least it was a start. It was as tenuous and fuckin' fragile as they were. But in spite of everything, it was still here, stronger than ever. They were stronger _together _than they were apart at any rate, and if that wasn't as poetic as shit he didn't know _what_ was.

It was time to stop wastin' his breath wondering why she wanted_ him_ and just fuckin' accept the fact that he wanted, no, he _needed_ the exact same thing. He might not deserve her, but hell if he was going to turn down a good thing. He was hers for as long as she'd have him. He knew that much for certain. Gushy romantic crap and all.

"Roger that, turning into a pumpkin is so last year anyway," he quipped, running a hand through his fringe before he paused, considering; "Is it still considered plagiarism if everyone affiliated with a copyright has turned into zombie kibble?" he wondered, thinking aloud more than anything else as Carol's shoulders started to shake, her hand fisting across his shirt as she tried and failed to keep quiet.

It was basically dominoes from there on in.

They both laughed until they woke up Judith all the way over in the next room, gurgling and curious as she sensed she was being left out of something interesting. He could see it now, her pudgy little fists whirling up into empty space from the safety of her crib, blowing spit bubbles indignantly as she screeched her displeasure to the world at large. Probably cussin' them out internally as Carol smothered a giggle into the curve of his shoulder.

And honestly? He'd be god damned if that didn't make them laugh all the _harder_.

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**A/N #2:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – This story is now complete, thank you for all your lovely comments and interest, I am thrilled you enjoyed! (If you enjoyed this one, you might like the two parter Scud/Carol Walking Dead/Blade crossover fic I will be posting on Saturday/Sunday this weekend, so keep an eye out for that!)


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